


In Our Hovel

by glymr, iesika



Series: Kings Among Runaways [6]
Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-18
Updated: 2009-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-10 15:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glymr/pseuds/glymr, https://archiveofourown.org/users/iesika/pseuds/iesika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“That looked like a good dream. Hated to wake you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Our Hovel

It’s not quite dark in the city. The sky is that peculiar yellow that comes before the Gotham dawn, and everything smells like ash. Tim is on the roof of the old Warren Hotel, and he has an excellent view of the street below, with its crumbling deco architecture and fragrant, litter-clogged gutters. Down in the shadows, Batman has a young teenager by the shirt, backed against the door of his beautiful, wonderful, _gorgeous_ car.

Tim has been chasing him all night, from street to roof to fire escape, ducking in and out of the darkness with his camera in hand. He can’t get the _picture_ , though...not the one he wants - the one he _needs_.

If he just creeps forward a little more, he can get the shot. Batman is distracted, leaning low over the boy, threatening and sheltering, lifting him up onto his toes. The boy’s jaw is clenched, defiant, his chin held high. He’s not afraid of Batman.

Tim steps forward and snaps the shutter, and in that instant, he is caught. The white lenses of Batman’s cowl flash in the dawning light as they find him unerringly on his perch. Beside him, under him, the boy’s eyes burn up with fierce, bitter light – only to soften into sudden warmth and slight amusement.

That’s when Tim slips.

He tumbles and falls, and the old brick crumbles above and around him. He falls and falls, down and down, toward the filthy street below, until there are arms around him and he’s flying.

Robin has him. Robin has _saved_ him – snatched him from the very _air_. His arms are strong, and his body is hard with muscle, and his smile is Dick’s before the last show, bright and warm and full of joy.

Tim clutches helplessly and rides their momentum, up in an endless arc over the streets, toward the sky. He’s warm in Robin’s arms, pressed tight against him, tight and held and –

“Hey,” Robin says, low and rough in his ear, and his smile is changed. His voice is changed. Everything about him is changed.

“Jay?” Tim asks, and opens his eyes. There’s enough moonlight and streetlight coming in the dirty windows for Tim to recognize his surroundings. He’s not _on_ the hotel - he’s _in_ it. They’d found a room on the fifth floor with the windows still intact and barricaded themselves in against the wind. It’s marginally warmer inside than out on the street, and drier besides. It’s a good place.

“Sorry,” Jason whispers, hot against his ear. They’re pressed together in the center of their dirty little mattress, and Tim has his arms and legs locked tight around him. He realizes with a sudden, embarrassing jolt that he’s hard as a rock, and sort of shoving his erection against Jason’s stomach. “That looked like a good dream. Hated to wake you. You’re really going to regret it if you come in those pants though, because I haven’t got any quarters for the laundromat.”

“Oh my God,” Tim gasps, and rolls away, turns his back to Jay and tucks in on himself like a child.

“No,” Jason says, and sighs audibly. “Jesus, kid. I don’t mind, okay. Go on, have at.”

“Oh my God,” Tim says again, and squeezes his eyes shut tight. “I’ll – I’ll be right-“ He tries to sit up, and Jason grabs his shoulder and pushes him back down, flat onto his back.

“It’s fucking _cold_ out there,” he growls. “I just said I don’t mind, didn’t I? Anyway, I think I’ve gotta, too, now.” He grins, sharp and a little dangerous, and in his mind, Tim sees a mask. He shudders hard and presses his palm against himself before he can stop, before he can think. “Yeah,” Jason breathes. “Yeah, just –“

Tim is helpless under his eyes, and hot under their blankets and coats and the layers of newspaper. His face is hot, even in the cool air, and he squeezes his eyes shut and turns his face away even as he gets his pants open and his hand into his underwear. He can’t believe he’s doing this with another boy beside him. Another boy. Jay.

“Jay,” he pants

He gets a growl in return, and feels Jason shift beside him and lay back down on his back. With a single sharp movement, Jay shoves the blankets off, knocking newspaper everywhere, and oh, he’s hard, too. “Your fucking fault,” he hisses as he yanks his pants over his hips. Tim can see the pale, round curve of his ass against the mattress. He watches hungrily as Jason licks his hand and grabs himself, his cock thick and uncut, watches him jerk roughly off the bed into his own touch. "Fucking molesting me in my sleep--"

“Sorry!” Tim gasps.

“Don’t you fucking apologize to me,” Jason growls. He groans, loud, and the sound makes Tim a little crazy, makes him hump up into his fist. It’s not usually like this. He was always so quiet under his covers, or on his knees in his darkroom and gasping. It’s never been like this, so overwhelming and –

Jason catches his elbow and pulls his arm up and away. Tim cries out, whimpers like he’s hurt, but Jason grabs him by the wrist and pulls his hand up to his face, to – oh god, to lick his palm. His tongue is rough and wet and soft and Tim nearly comes just from that, before Jason shoves his hand back toward his lap. “Watchin' you was hurtin’ me, kid.”

It's good, rough - rough like calluses, like gauntlets - but Jason had _licked his hand_. The _taste_ – Oh, he knows the taste from his own sticky fingers and he can all but _feel it_ on his tongue now, slick and slightly bitter. He can smell it in the air around them, over the dirt and the smoke and the stale stink of urine. He can smell Jason. And Jay had – oh, and it made it _better_ , slicker, yes, but just the thought of it – Tim gasps and arches, feels the rush of pleasure, feels sticky heat over his hand, his belly, quickly cooling in the night air.

Jason lets out a rough shout beside him, and Tim turns to look, trying not to be as obvious as he feels. He watches the bright, slick head of Jason’s cock, dark and weeping as his foreskin slides back, disappearing again on the upstroke until all Tim can see is Jason’s fist.

He wants that. It hits him all of a sudden, and he knows. God, he does. He wants it. Wants to touch, to taste – Would Jason let him? If he asked? Would he – what if Tim just reached over and –

Jason is looking at him, his eyes wide, like he can read Tim’s mind, like maybe he’s thinking about it too, and then his eyes squeeze shut and his head flies back, and Tim has never seen another boy have an orgasm before, except on the internet, and oh, it was nothing like this, because Jason’s head falls to the side, and Tim can feel his _breath_ \- short, harsh pants against his mouth, because they’re laying so close. Tim moans with him as he cries out and then goes still. When he tears his eyes from Jason’s suddenly placid face, he realizes he could have been watching _that_ , too, because, oh, Jason’s hand is still wrapped tight, and now it’s shining just a little in the light from the street outside.

Tim wishes he were bolder - more...something. Wishes he could reach out and take that hand, bring it to his mouth, his nose - he wants to capture the scent in the air and put it in a bottle, keep it, save it for later, when Jason is tired of him, tired of this stupid little kid tagging along behind him.

Because Jason – Jason’s great. Jason’s _wonderful_ , and Tim thinks maybe – but it doesn’t matter, because Jason thinks he’s a kid. He thinks he needs sheltering, protecting, thinks he needs a fucking _big brother_ –

Tim’s not feeling very brotherly right now.

He watches Jason wipe his hand on a wad of newspaper, clean between his fingers a little with an ad for vacuum cleaners. Tim makes a deliberate decision and brings his hand to his mouth instead of doing the same. He licks his palm, just like Jason had, and then over the back of his thumb and to the sharp bone of his wrist. Jason’s head snaps up to watch him, his eyes dark.

Tim wipes the last trace from his belly with one finger. Sucks it clean. And then he tucks himself back into his pants and starts collecting the newspaper that’s still in reach. It’s cold again now, with the sweat cooling on his skin. He pulls the blanket up to his chin and adjusts Jason’s coat.

Beside him, Jason shifts around a little, and then he settles against Tim’s side. Tim can feel his breath again. He feels the laugh rather than hearing it, and it makes his heart clench.

“Must have been some dream,” Jason says, his voice thick and drowsy.

Jason really has no idea.


End file.
